


All I Want for Fete Week is You

by Piano_Padawan



Series: GingerPilot Holiday 2018 - 2019 [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Damerux, Gingerpilot, M/M, Poor Hux, Some Crack, Some Fluff, Some Reylo and FinnRose on the side, gingerpilotholiday2018
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piano_Padawan/pseuds/Piano_Padawan
Summary: After dealing with Ren’s antics, avoiding assassinations and planning his own hit list, General Armitage Hux just wants to take a nap after the chaos of planning for Fete Week.Left alone while his Resistance friends are scattered on their own romantic holiday outings, Commander Poe Dameron just wants someone to enjoy the holidays with alongside BB-8.On the first day of Fete Week, Kylo Ren ships Hux to Poe in a gift-wrapped escape pod. Reluctant to turn Hux in for interrogation in the spirit of the holiday season, Poe decides to let Hux stay with him for Fete Week while they find a way to ship him back to the First Order, under the condition that Hux participates in the Commander’s favorite winter festivities.Will they find the magic of the season like all the classic holiday specials? Of course not. But it’s bound to be an eventful, explosive Fete Week for both of them anyway…





	1. Gift Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars or any of the themes, characters, names, etc. related to it.

Years in the First Order should have taught Hux better than to fall asleep for more than an hour. For the most part, he did a good job limiting his sleep to an assassination-proof time limit, knowing all too well that sleeping over an hour meant waking up dead, in the trash compactor or some other undesirable location, like a radar technician beginner’s aerobics class (never mind that he had actually ended up joining the aerobics class that one time).

But even a champion insomniac like Hux caved in sometimes. This was one of those times, and he’d paid for it dearly.

In Hux’s defense, life had been even more draining than usual lately. The days leading up to the New Year’s Fete Week always involved extra work in the First Order, beyond the usual scheming about galactic conquest and practicing his sinister catwalk on the Bridge. There was eggnog to poison, gingerbread Resistance bases to be built to be decimated by gingerbread dreadnoughts, Life Day trees to be replaced (Ren had destroyed sixteen in the past month in accordance with Force-sensitive tree zapping traditions) and helmet-fitting winter hats to be purchased for entire divisions of Stormtrooper carolers. It was all overwhelming, and by the eve of the first day of Fete Week, Hux was exhausted enough that he’d collapsed on the couch in the officer’s lounge, just for a quick nap…

And woken up 61 minutes later, in a coffin-shaped escape pod, hurtling through space.

He’d spent the last hour trapped in the cramped pod, lying on his back, cursing Kylo Ren. This was obviously the new Supreme Leader’s doing. Ren had probably been inspired by his scavenger girlfriend’s habit of mailing herself to his Star Destroyer, a reoccurring event that Hux found quite bizarre. He didn’t have _personal_ experience with romantic relationships, per se. Still, he was quite sure that the Galactic Postal Service’s express shipping was not the typical mode of transport to dates.

Hux didn’t have the faintest idea where the pod was destined to land. The window had been covered, so he couldn’t see his new surroundings. Knowing Ren, he doubted he’d been mailed to a beach resort on Scarif. He was probably destined for the swamps of Dagobah, that junkyard of nothingness known as Jakku, or worse, a cantina on Ahch-To filled with porgs singing Figrin D’an and the Modal Node’s Holiday Hits.

Well, if he was destined for one hellish planet or another, Hux at least hoped it would be a smooth landing. Of course, that turned out to be too much to ask.

The clash of broken glass jarred in his ears as the pod crashed through a window. The vessel came to a screeching halt, crashing into a wall, jostling its cargo. Footsteps shuffled around him, followed by the frantic beeps of a droid.

“Looks like someone sent us a Fete Week present, Buddy!”

It didn’t take Hux long to recognize that voice, and the realization made his blood curdle. He had landed in the lair of none other than that insufferably cocky, Rebel scum pilot, Poe Dameron, that villain who’d had the audacity to mock Hux’s family name, disrespect his mother and hang up on the esteemed general, all in the course of a single phone call. By the sounds of it, Dameron was accompanied by his devious BB unit, that delinquent droid who had escaped the First Order’s custody after setting fire to the hangar and hijacking a shuttle.

 _Just kill me now_ , Hux thought.

“And it comes with a card…” Dameron was chattering on to the droid.

“ _Read card first_ ,” the droid beeped in binary.

“Okay, Buddy. Let’s see:

_‘Dear Rebel Scum,_

_I am not sure whether this will reach you before Fete Week. I know that you know that we’ve found your base and are planning on incinerating it as soon as all this dumb holiday stuff is over. (Did you know that Darth Vader never celebrated Fete Week the traditional way? He thought it was a waste of time he could spend doing good deeds like making carbonite crafts out of no-good, bad father smugglers.) The point is, you might evacuate the base before this gift finds you, but I doubt it. I can see you right now, procrastinating on the evacuation, making your stupid gingerbread Stormtroopers and singing all your Resistance hope songs, hoping to forget that this time of year is just as devoid of hope as any other hopeless time of year._

_But although you’re Rebel scum, and I hate you for all the misery you’ve added to your life, I felt obliged to give you a gift to compensate your paying for my Beloved Nothing Rey’s shipping and handling for her transport to our dates these past few months. So, I hope you enjoy this miserable rabid cur during your equally miserable holiday season._

_Conflictedly,_

_Supreme Leader Kylo Ren (Not Ben Solo Because You’re Not Rey)_

_P.S. Tell my mom I’m sorry she got sucked into space during that cruiser incident. I actually didn’t do that. It was Hux’s fault. Really._

_P.P.S. The rabid cur barks a lot. I’m not quite sure how to make him stop and I wouldn’t tell you even if I did. But he’s very good at finding people in snowstorms and other search-and-rescue-type duties like most Arkanisian Fox Hounds.’”_

There were some things in life that just made Hux want to scream with such enraged passion that he could defy the laws of physics and let his fury be heard across the empty void of space. Being called an Arkanisian Fox Hound and shipped across the galaxy were two such things. His furious shrieking combined with the tear of wrapping paper being ripped off the escape pod made quite the cacophony.

“BenRen wasn’t lying when he said it was loud,” Dameron said. His droid squealed in agreement. “Probably just needs some water and food… you know, he should really know better than to ship a dog this far across the galaxy.”

“ _Why Poe want a puppy when Poe has BB-8?_ ” the droid let out a binary wail. “ _Unfaithful Poe, wanting a puppy after being saved so many times by BB-8. Bad. Traitor._ ”

“Come on, Buddy. He’s not going to replace you. We’ll give him a good home in the Resistance. I always wanted a puppy, something like a cute, fluffy Chandrilan…”

The pod hissed as it opened, filling the inside with fog. Hux wasn’t sure what the benefit of the fog was in terms of safety or anything practical. He supposed it did make for a dramatic entrance. It also succeeded in undoing the hard work of his industrial-strength hair gel. Here he was, now, in enemy territory, confronted by a villainous, handsome Rebel pilot (the handsomeness was an afterthought, really) having a bad hair day on top of everything. Would his torment never end?

When the fog cleared, Hux found himself face to face with a very shocked Poe Dameron. He wasn’t sure whether it was the disappointment of not actually getting a puppy for Fete Week or the shock of receiving a gift-wrapped First Order General from Kylo Ren that made Dameron looked so stunned. The two stared at each other in semi-horrified, semi-confused silence for a long moment, before Dameron’s voice returned:

“Hugs!” he said.

“Kriffing Rebel Sc…” Hux did not finish the expletive before he was stunned by BB-8, who had snuck up behind the general like the seasoned, spherical assassin he was.

Fete Week this year was going to be interesting indeed.


	2. Uncompromised Negotiations

Commander Poe Dameron had dealt with a number of unideal situations these past few months, ranging from being trapped in unarmed escape pods pursued by a fleet of Star Destroyers to having nothing to eat but Rey’s specialty “Instant Cheese Bread” for a week before the Resistance found a space station with a convenience store. So, he was used to handling mishaps. Admittedly, having General Hux crash through his bedroom window in a box covered in wrapping paper and ribbons was a little unexpected, but Poe did his best to manage the situation professionally.

He took a sip from his peppermint caf latte and leaned back in bed. He’d let Hux have the armchair. The general looked quite festive despite the fact that he was still unconscious, tied to the chair with a string of New Year Lights BB-8 had retrieved from the Resistance storeroom (which was lacking in fuel and food, but abounding with lights and paper snowflakes).

The droid was circling his decorated prisoner, praising his own good work in binary. Poe wasn’t sure why BB units had a tendency to circle people in a predatory fashion. Whatever the reason, it was pretty cute and probably wasn’t too dangerous.

“Nothing to watch,” Poe muttered, flipping through the channels on the hologram monitor. In a way, he was almost happy that Hux had dropped by, even if his arrival was somewhat unconventional and even if he was the lunatic general who’d destroyed an entire star system. It was the most eventful thing that had happened so far this Fete Week.

Normally, the holidays were a busier time, but this year, everyone seemed to have other plans. Maybe it was because the Resistance had been stuck on the Millennium Falcon for months after the Battle of Crait, and they’d all gotten tired of each other. It certainly seemed as if everyone had taken the opportunity to scatter as soon as they found another abandoned Rebel base on Battu.

Snap and Karé were off for some “alone time” exploring town. Most of the other remaining twenty members of the Resistance had similar vague explanations for their absence. Even Finn and Rose had sought some privacy (and no, Poe had not cried internally after he got the message over “I gave you my jacket, stitched it up for you and lent you my droid on your mission to the Supremacy, and you can’t even stick around to do something fun for the holidays with me for thirty minutes. How could you sub me like this? Do I mean nothing to you?”).

Up until this morning, Poe had assumed he’d still have a small viewing party for the classic holiday holovid cartoons, consisting of himself, Rey, General Organa and BB-8. But then Rey had shipped herself off to spend the holidays lightsaber fighting Kylo Ren and trying to slash the other side of his face (which sounded _very_ joyful indeed), and Organa wasn’t in the mood for watching the Red-Nosed Taun Taun movie again.

So, it seemed that the holiday festivities would be limited to Poe, BB-8 and Hux… depending on how long they could keep the latter tied up.

Tiring of endless commercial breaks, Poe turned the hologram off with a sigh.

“Hey, Buddy, do you think you can find a holovid chip for the ‘Red-Nosed Taun Taun’ along with all those other Fete Week supplies?” he asked the droid. “I know you wanted to watch your favorite again this year…”

“ _Poe_ wants to watch same holovid again,” BB-8 corrected. “Again and again and…”

“Okay, we _both_ want to see it,” Poe conceded.

“See WHAT, Rebel Scum?!”

Hux had woken up. Poe had thought that the general would be more amicable after a short nap. True, it had been a nap induced by a taser, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be refreshing. Unfortunately, the incident had only made Hux more agitated and, if that was even possible, _louder_.

“Good morning, Hugs,” Poe replied, making his way over to the armchair where Hux was tugging against his glowing straitjacket. The redhead shot him a venomous scowl.

“I don’t know what it is you want to see,” Hux growled, “Battle plans, blueprints… I won’t show you anything. Torture me with your infernal droid, tie me up… I won’t…”

“Relax, Hugs,” Poe said. “I don’t torture people, not on holidays… not ever, really. And BB-8’s an astromech droid, not a torture droid.” (At least, he was pretty sure that information was accurate. BB-8’s manual had described the droid as “multipurpose”, and he did come equipped with more needles and blades than a typical astromech droid, but that was beside the point.)

“Then why am I tied to an interrogation chair?” Hux demanded.

“It’s not a torture chair and it’s actually very plush and comfortable if you sit the right way,” Poe tried to explain. “Look, it wasn’t my idea. I know you aren’t armed and all, so I told BB-8 that we could just lock the door and talk things out, but Buddy said we needed to take precautions. Now, don’t get me wrong, but I do kind of see BB’s point… saying how you’re always going on about how you want to wipe out the Rebellion and obliterate our fleet and all that jazz.”

“You’re not exactly convincing me to do otherwise, restraining me in such an… undignified manner.” The lights restraining Hux began to blink in various shades of neon colors as if to illustrate his point. Poe had only just noticed that the lights were synchronized with the holiday radio station, which was playing a techno version of _“It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Life Day”_. “But do as you wish, Dameron. The First Order will have sound retribution for whatever humiliation I am to endure here! I will see to it that you and your Rebel friends face the full wrath…”

“Shh!” Poe hushed him. “Okay, okay. Hugs, you’re going to have to quiet down your wrath. I don’t really want to wake up General Organa.”

Hux froze mid-scream.

“Organa?” he said. “Leia Organa?”

“Yeah,” said Poe. “She stayed behind at the base with me while everyone else left for the holidays. It’s still early in the morning though, so I thought I’d let her sleep in. She’s really drained, all this restoring hope to the Rebellion, you know… not to mention the fact that she had to fly through a mile of empty space a few months ago. That’s got to be real tiring.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Hux was visibly shaking, which added an interesting effect to the light display. “Leia Organa… Ren’s mother is here at this base. I…” Hux’s voice was subdued. Poe was surprised that the general was capable of speaking at a volume that wasn’t between noisy and earsplitting. “I suppose you’ll have to turn me in to her.”

Poe hadn’t thought quite that far in advance. He looked to BB-8 for advice. The droid cocked its head expectantly but said nothing.

“I guess, yeah…” Poe replied.

A wave of pure terror swept over Hux’s face. His eyes darted to the floor, murmuring something to himself that sounded like “How low down of you, Ren… you won’t kill me on your own, but you’ll have your mother kill me…”

Suddenly, Poe understood what was terrifying the general. Kylo Ren was certainly capable of frightening things. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that his relatives had equally chaotic personalities.

“Don’t worry, Hugs,” Poe tried to console the frightened general. “General Organa isn’t creepy like Ren.”

“You just said she flew through space and survived,” Hux said, narrowing his eyes. “They say she’s strangled enormous beasts with her bare hands.”

“Yeah, but…”

“They say she slapped you, demoted you, and blasted you into a wall. Thereafter, you were unconscious, and awoke to find yourself trapped on a defenseless escape pod, an open target to the ventral cannons.”

“And whose fault was that last part?” Poe retorted. “Look, Hugs. It’ll be okay. She’s probably not going to hurt you… she might even let you go…”

Hux did not look at all convinced. Every last bit of color had fled his already pallid complexion. He trembled and seemed to bar his teeth like, well… a threatened Arkanisian Fox Hound.

As a loyal member of the Resistance who had vowed to crush the First Order, Poe really ought to have turned Hux in. But there was something about Hux, immobilized by flashing holiday lights, their red and green glow illuminating his unexpectedly dainty features, the wires wrapped around him in a way that complimented his slim figure, that gave Poe pause.

“Or… maybe I don’t have to turn you in to General Organa,” he said.

BB-8 gave the back of Poe’s ankle a light shock.

“ _Uh oh_ ,” BB-8 whined, his favorite way of conveying dismay over a situation gone terribly awry. “ _Uh oh. Uh oh._ ”

Hux looked shocked by Poe’s proposition. He opened his mouth but was unable to gather his words at first.

“It’s… it’s your decision,” Hux said, practically sticking his nose up in the air to maintain his aloof aura. “Though I would have you know that I am quite young to die, by most standards… and I do have a cat, a little orange Tooka tabby named Millicent who would be without an owner if anything were to happen to me. I’m sure Dopheld Mitaka is taking care of her now, but he’s always transferring ship. He would hardly be able to maintain a long-term, stable home for Millie. I rescued her from the _Dominion_ Star Destroyer, shortly before it was destroyed by a Rebel fleet. Sometimes, it isn’t my own death at the hands of you Rebel scum that I dread, so much as what would happen to my feline darling if…”

“Alright, alright,” Poe cracked. “I won’t turn you in, Hugs… under one condition.”

“Oh, thank you, Dameron, anything…” Hux sputtered before gathering himself again. “Uh… state your terms. I might agree to them if they are reasonable.”

“You’ll spend the entire New Year’s Fete Week with me and participate in all the holiday festivities,” Poe said. “And watch whatever holiday holovids BB-8 requests. Even if we’ve all seen them thirty over times before… Oh. And you won’t try to leak Resistance info or call your First Order cronies or attack anyone when I untie you. Do that, and I’ll let you hide in my room. If you play nicely, I might even consider getting you a ride back to the First Order when the week is over, just to make sure that there’s someone to take care of Millicent.”

Hux gave him a long, scrutinizing look, as if he were waiting for a catch. There was none. He rolled his eyes and said:

“I consent to your asinine terms, Dameron.”

“ _Desperate Poe_ ,” BB-8 heaved a binary sigh, rolling off to the corner, ashamed of his owner’s weakness to cute pasty generals and sob stories about Tooka Cats.


	3. The Biology of the Red-Nosed Taun Taun

“Why taun tauns?”

Hux was watching the rolling credits for The Red-Nosed Taun Taun, his brow furrowed, his mouth stretched into a wince as if he were in deep agony. Poe’s request to watch a short seasonal holovid had seemed innocent enough, but after what felt like an eternity of excruciatingly cheerful songs and a cringeworthy script, Hux was beginning to suspect the pilot had gone back on his word about no torture.

“What was that, Hugs?” Poe asked. Hux had decided it was a lost cause to make Dameron abandon the puerile nickname. Of course, the pilot claimed that Hux had given up the fight after deciding he liked the pet name after all, a ridiculous proposition.

“Why does this Santa Claus fellow use taun tauns, of all creatures, to pull his sleigh?” Hux had been interrogating the plotline of The Red-Nosed Taun Taun for the entire length of the holovid. He’d never seen it before and was unimpressed by its screenplay.

“Because he lives on the North Pole of Hoth,” Poe explained. “And the taun tauns are magic. So, they can fly and stuff…”

“Wouldn’t change the fact that they are noisy and smell dreadful,” Hux said. “Not to mention that they are not well-suited to travel long distances. Fathiers, perhaps, but even then, neither should be able to fly, or travel through space. I suppose one could use magical Neebrays. I’ve heard that those can survive in some nebulas, but it would still be a very inefficient mode of transport.”

“Well, I’m sorry that Santa in this movie doesn’t travel in a Mandator Siege Star Destroyer,” said Poe.

“Mandator-class Siege Dreadnought, you mean.” Hux rolled his eyes. “The Mandator line was a line of Dreadnoughts, not Star Destroyers. I thought you’d know after that travesty with the Fulmanatrix, or perhaps you don’t even know what you blow up, but going back to what I was saying about Santa’s inefficient mode of transportation. Red light wouldn’t even be the best choice to increase visibility. I would suggest white light…”

“Whatever, Hugs…” Poe said. “Hey, can you lift your hand a little. I think I can get this arm free.”

Poe was struggling with a complicated knot of holiday lights encircling Hux’s wrist. He’d been working on freeing Hux from the armchair throughout the holovid but had made little progress. Apparently, BB-8 had extensive knowledge when it came to knots. The droid had refused to help untie the general, even after being bribed with premium droid biscuits and one of Poe’s blasters.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Hux groaned.

“I think I’m getting somewhere,” Poe replied. “Want to watch another holovid while you’re wait–”

“ _No_.” Hux couldn’t remember ever wanting to avoid an event so vehemently, and that said something.

“You’re awfully grouchy for the holidays,” Poe remarked. “Really, you didn’t even think the Red-Nosed Taun Taun was a little cute? It’s a classic…”

“Classic doesn’t mean good.”

“True. Death Stars are classic, but yours didn’t work much better the third time.”

“That’s a low blow, Dameron, and you… ouch! Be careful, you imbecile!”

“Sorry, Hugs…” Poe said.

His latest attempt to loosen the matrix of lights seemed to have had the opposite effect. BB-8 made a series of amused beeps.

“Be nice, Buddy,” Poe told the droid, before turning back to Hugs. “Seriously, though. You must have enjoyed at least some of it. I know it was a little cheesy here and there, but it had its nice moments. Like the part where the Wampa that everyone fears ends up learning to be nice to people…”

“Wampas are bloodthirsty beasts,” Hux said. “Even the juveniles have the ability to rip a grown man’s body in two. I hear they hang their victims upside down in caves. If it’s a female wampa with cubs, she eats the flesh and then feeds the blood to her young.”

“Thank you for that pleasant information.”

Poe took a step back to examine the predicament. Hux’s luminous cocoon looked more impenetrable than ever.

“I don’t see why you can’t simply cut the lights, Dameron,” the general complained.

“That would ruin them,” Poe explained. “You know the Resistance only has so many holiday decorations. I don’t want us to run out.”

“If you had chosen the proper side of the war, you’d have more than enough decorations,” sniffed Hux. “Far better quality too, not like this gaudy monstrosity.”

Poe raised an eyebrow.

“I never thought the First Order was much into holiday celebrations,” he said. “I always thought you would be too busy conquering and burning and, what else do you like to do, oh yeah… pillaging.”

“We’re a refined military organization, not a band of pirates, Dameron,” Hux said. “So, yes, we do celebrate the New Year’s Fete Week. I have some very fond memories of Fete Week with Supreme Leader Snoke and Phasma. We really did make a beautiful family before Ren ruined it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did,” Poe chuckled. “What was it like? Did you run down the stairs in your pajamas at the crack of dawn the first day of Fete Week, excited to see who Santa had brought you to execute?”

“We had none of that Santa Claus bantha shit, thank you very much. But believe me, it was the closest thing to a joyful experience I have ever experienced.”

“Huh. I’m sorry I never had the privilege of seeing it.”

That was when Hux had an idea. He felt a flicker of excitement, the type he only got when he was about to order someone to fire the ventral cannons or when he was about to take a sip from a cup of artisan tarine tea.

“Would you like to see it, Dameron?” he asked. “So that you can know what you’ve missed by joining the loathsome Resistance?”

“See what? Your family Fete Week videos?”

“Precisely!” The eagerness in his voice took him aback. Perhaps he was just anxious to show Poe the life he was missing, not that he particularly wanted the pilot to join the First Order, and even if he did, it was for impersonal reasons, unrelated to loneliness or physical attractiveness. Or perhaps he was just desperate to get another holovid playing before Poe changed his mind about another round of magical flying taun tauns. “It’s on the First Order online archive. I can log in on your hologram projector.”

“Shouldn’t that be… er… classified or something?”

“It’s nothing of strategic importance. Just frivolous things. Good times with dear Supreme Leader Snoke.”

For reasons Hux did not understand, Poe appeared to be disturbed by the idea of family home holovids.

“Sounds charming, Hugs,” said the pilot. “But maybe we could watch something else? BB-8 said there’s a whole box of holovids. Have you ever seen the one about the singing snowman who came to life?”

Hux had seen a film about a snowman that came to life. It had been an Empire indie horror movie, the thought of which still made him shudder. Phasma had forced him to watch it. The story entailed a snowman which was possessed by the soul of a snowtrooper who’d perished in a storm. The rest of the holovid had featured enough gratuitous violence to give the general persistent nightmares, such that he’d requested to sleep in the throne room where it was safer for six nights afterwards (Supreme Leader Snoke had rejected his request). However, considering Dameron’s preference for toothache-inducing children’s films, Hux doubted they had the same snowman holovid in mind.

“No, I have not seen it, and I have no desire to do so,” Hux said. He looked down at the lights entwined around his body in despair. “Though I suppose I don’t have much of a choice. Very well then. You can subject me to your singing snowmen and horrible screenplays if that is to be part of our bargain.”

“What’s with you and everything being torture?” Poe chuckled. Hux felt his rage boil. The pilot even had the audacity to laugh about his misery. “This is supposed to be fun, Hugs.”

“I would rather die than watch any more singing snowmen and red-nosed taun tauns and wampas who put stars on Life Day trees instead of ripping people’s limbs off as is their natural state!” Hux declared.

“Okay, Hugs, relax,” Poe said. “No need to make this a life and death situation… you know, if you really want to, I guess we could watch one of your creepy home holovids.”

Hux eyed the pilot suspiciously.

“You would do that, Dameron?” he questioned.

“Yeah sure… I mean, you’ve had a rough day travelling across the galaxy and getting tied up and all…” Poe hesitated. “Not that I don’t think you deserve everything you’ve got, after all the death and destruction and screaming… but still. It’s the holidays. We can do something that makes you, er… happy?” Poe seemed uncertain whether the general was in fact capable of happiness.

Hux wasn’t very used to being asked to do things that pleased him. He wasn’t very used to being pleased by anything, for that matter. This had to be part of a larger conspiracy. The Resistance was ever deceitful, and Poe undoubtedly had ulterior motives, but maybe just this once, Hux could play along.


End file.
